


Phantom Betrayal

by ShadesOfGrey



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, Revenge, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfGrey/pseuds/ShadesOfGrey
Summary: Lauren Sinclair and Kieran White have had a child. Sophia Sinclair-White, to be exact. However, things go haywire relatively quickly, and it seems as if Sophia's life has taken a turn for the worse.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair & Kieran White
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Phantom Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> light tw: there is some violence, but no over-the-top descriptions. kieran gets injured/hurt and ends up pretty badly damaged. no physical fights are described (unless you count internal conflicts, for whatever reason).

Sophia Sinclair-White.

The child of a particularly odd couple, a law-breaker and a law-enforcer, Sophia was a beautiful child. She had the face of her mother, Lauren Sinclair; golden, bright, proud eyes that were able to see the true meaning behind a person’s words, a sharp nose, soft lips. All else, however, seemed to belong to her father; Kieran White’s crisp, black hair, his scowl, his movements. His walk, his gaze. 

However, it seemed Sophia had her mother's personality. She was soft, caring, trusting, yet strong. Honest, too, with virtue and a glistening aura -- Lauren made sure of that.

Both Kieran and Lauren adored the child with all their heart. Kieran especially, finding a new purpose to his life; no longer did he need to cling onto a sense of fulfillment by sinking a blade into a person's chest. Watching the light fade from their eyes. Killing was no longer something he had to do, murder no longer a necessity. And once he found this new hope, this new person to be with, he fled from that life and left it behind.

So, when one day, Kieran was out, taking Sophia out to the neighborhood park, he was utterly heartbroken when he left empty-handed.

Sophia was only seven at the time. An unlucky number to most, unlucky more to Kieran White. She clung onto the monkey bars and giggled as she swung around, climbed the rocks, danced around. She was meeting with a group of other children, other friends she'd found happiness with. Sophia was a fool, too, naive, unaware that others could lie. And when one older, colder teenager pulled her away? Sophia wasn't aware she was being taken away to meet some adults, placed in a car, and driven away, never to see that park again.

Where was Kieran, you might ask? Her loyal guardian, the person that she mattered to most?

Kieran was distracted. Another parent pulled him aside, curious, and chattered nonstop; even as Kieran tore his eyes away, afraid that Sophia might scrape her knee or get a piece of mulch stuck in her clothes, he was forced to look that parent in the eyes and speak.

A few, hurried words melted into longer sentences. Then, paragraphs. A fully-fledged conversation that tired Kieran out, caused him to slouch, and made him yearn to fall asleep. As if he'd fully, fully forgotten that Sophia even  _ existed _ .

That early afternoon came to a mid-evening by the time the adult left, their image hazy. Kieran stood up and called for Sophia, but noticed that the park had gone silent. No rustling, no noise. No other children. Nobody, not even Sophia Sinclair-White, the gem to Kieran's life, the reason he kept living, the reason he genuinely smiled and had a warmth in his chest.

He wasn't going home empty-handed. Lauren's echoing wrath was yet another driving motivation, one that forced Kieran away from home. He walked down the streets, calling her name, begging others for help. Hell, as midnight passed, as the summer's cold set in and Kieran began to shiver (from fear, his cold sweat, from worry and concern and anxiety), he came to the houses of the children Sophia played with. None, of course, came up; he looked around more, asked around more. They were from an orphanage, and frequently wandered the city in search of friends. 

Just that today, just as Sophia was snatched away, they'd been adopted, by a particular person. Kieran fit things together, unraveling their plan perfectly, although his heart ached and he couldn't believe it true. That parent really  _ was _ new, amateur, because they'd  _ just  _ adopted those orphans. A proud raiser of five, they proclaimed, and there were five (excluding the teenager, of course) who played with Sophia. Although Kieran had spent the day with shifting eyes and an inability to focus, he remembered that man's face. Their rectangular eyes, their square chin; the thick, pudgy, triangular nose that lifted a pair of large, cheap glasses up against thick eyebrows. The blubbering pair of lips that wouldn't stop talking.

Panicked, Kieran didn't sleep that night. He called out for Sophia until his throat was raw, walked until his shoes were basically worn to dust. He continued to search, every crack and crevice, every alleyway and acre. Just as the sun began to rise once again, it's warming sunrise keeping Kieran from freezing into a statue of ice, he headed to the police station. Reported Sophia's disappearance, the potential kidnapper, and  _ begged _ ; he begged relentlessly, as if a god could hear him. He was wrong, though, and there was no god to save him, for the man's face he memorized didn't exist, nor the other children's. 

The orphanage, too, didn't recognize any of them. Not even those aged children that seemed to be there forever.

It was a full three days before Kieran mustered up any courage. Trekking along in cold, the summer springs the only driving factor, he came up to Lauren's door and knocked four, heartbroken knocks.

"Honey," Kieran weakly said, as Lauren's fearful face came to the door, "I'm home."

"Where have you  _ been _ ?" Lauren cried, wrapping her arms around Kieran. He was soaking wet, cold to his bones, yet could still feel the minimal warmth in that hug. "I've been sending out reports asking for you! Wait..."

Lauren Sinclair paused, pulling away. She furrowed her brows and stared Kieran in the eyes, wary that he was slouched and grimacing, wary that his eyes were twitchy and he looked starved. "Where's Sophia?"

At that moment, Kieran had no excuse. He collapsed on the doorway, curled up on the ground, muttering about some half-assed apology. Kieran remained there, soaking in the showers, sobbing and sobbing. A confused Lauren waved behind her, asking for a maid to help drag this fallen body up the stairs and somewhere safe. Unlike the demonic visions Kieran had been plagued during the week, Lauren wasn’t infuriated. She was calm, if anything. Her face was resting, no frown tugging at it, nor any perplexed emotion. 

Stirring around a cup of coffee, and offering one to her spouse, Lauren crossed her legs and patiently waited. Waited for the story, for the reasons. And as a sputtering Kieran managed it out, choking on hot coffee and feeling a gut-wrenching hunger, she listened.

"You  _ lost _ her," Lauren repeated, her voice hollow and... empty. Lost. Distant eyes matched her voice, gazing at Kieran's lowered head, yet past it at the same time. Into his soul, almost, wondering, wondering  _ how _ .

Kieran coughed and gasped, something along the lines of "I didn't mean to" and "I can find her."

Lauren, however, knew that it was all a lie. If the people  _ she _ hired couldn’t, how could he? Even if Kieran didn't believe it, even though his retched words, cold and trembling, weren't red with lies, she knew. Knew that Sophia was gone, lost, and... And what? Dead? Missing? No, she couldn't be. Seven years. Seven, entire years. Forgotten? Ditched? Left behind? 

That calm anger remained in Lauren for the following years, the empty years where Kieran was constantly sobbing, constantly crying. Eight years since Sophia had been born, nine, ten. Lauren had to handcuff Kieran and make sure he was in her sight at all times; there were moments when he'd crawl away, latch onto a sharp object, and attempt to do the unspeakable. She wanted to understand it, to feel the same sense of grief and despair, but she couldn't. No, Lauren didn't want to. All that. For nothing. All that trust, all that hope. Gone. In one day -- no, not even a full day! A single, fucking afternoon, and she lost her sun.

Lauren, one strayed day, slammed her fists against her desk. She kicked back and screamed, palms against her eyes. A depressed Kieran looked up, shocked by the sudden emotion, and saw as Lauren clutched her chest. Saw her walk away, down the stairs, into the basement, and punch an old, familiar punching-bag. Left, right, left, right, she continued, without even bothering to bandage her hands. Screaming all the while.

"You fucking..."

As Lauren punched until her knuckles burst and her fingers bled -- until her nails dug holes and cuts into the palms of her hand -- her ever-growing urge to toss Kieran out the window continued to grow. With it, Sophia's did, too.

Kieran was right. Sophia  _ had _ been kidnapped, stolen from before his very eyes. What he wasn't right about was the reason; it was personal, much more personal than Kieran first assumed. It hadn't been just a coincidence or a mere unlucky position, it was, in its own, odd way, to spite him.

The Phantom Scythe had returned, unable to be escaped. 

There was oddness to the leader's choice of action, but maybe it was for revenge. Dragging Sophia away, to a new mansion, one that was bigger than Kieran's and Lauren's. With many more rooms, play areas, other children, yet they were all working under the same cause: to  _ fight _ . Every day, there was time to play, to eat, to laugh and cherish life. Then, at 12 sharp, they'd train, under advisors and coaches. First, it was physical fighting -- punching, boxing, martial arts, the liking. Then, it was academics, learning, using your brain (but not after an hour-long break; they were ruthless, but not that ruthless). After that, the day was over, and it was time to shower, sleep, rinse and repeat.

Sophia's particular driving factor was Kieran White himself. Unlike the others, who had some other monetary or greedy motivation, she wanted to fight Kieran. His face was plastered on her punching bag, his voice the target for archery. Whenever she did poorly in her maths, Kieran was there to taunt her;  _ you can do better, I was better than you, why aren't you more like me? _ and thus, Sophia wanted to hurt him. She'd heard stories of her past, of the others from her orphanage.

They were all abandoned by their parents because they had to be. Maybe they couldn't be afforded, maybe child care was too much. Kieran, however, ditched her. Left her. Scowled at that ugly child and sorry excuse of an heir, then left to have another child. He scowled at her face, kicked at her body. She was worthless to him, but he wasn't worthless to her. No; as she became eleven, twelve, thirteen, her bitterness drove her forth. Her punches, harder, her rage, stronger.

In the occasional tussles or spar sessions with the others being trained, Sophia was nowhere near the strongest one. She scored the most in individuals, especially when she was alone with nothing but her thoughts, which only further puzzled her trainers. Why?

So, on one forsaken day, on Sophia's fourteenth birthday (in reality, it wasn't truly her birthday, only the day she'd been adopted into this organization), she was offered a fight. Winner gets a chocolate bar. Her trainers had a theory, and offered masks for one another -- her opponent wore Kieran's face, Sophia wore a cat mask (after all, her opponent had a particular dislike of cats). It took only four turns before Sophia reigned victory, standing over her fallen's body, cheering and excitedly munching down candy.

When seventeen painful years passed, Lauren and Kieran both somehow coped. They didn't get another child, for a major fear of losing them, but for others, too; what if Lauren was constantly reminded of their loss? Kieran, with... with how he failed? Whereas Lauren Sinclair could semi-survive, moving on with life, always lighting an extra candle and buying an extra cake for Sophia's true birthday, Kieran couldn't. He felt kicked in the head and dragged down the stairs, as if someone was given brass knuckles and told to beat him until he was dead.

Kieran didn't leave the house, unable to settle down at a job. He wasn't able to eat, either, nor proceed with any proper human needs. Occasionally, Kieran would shakily pick up a pencil and draw, but every time, he was reminded of Sophia. No matter what, his actions led to her face. Her happiness. Her joy, her... 

With the years, he put up more walls. Built more to try and protect himself, to keep himself from being hurt again. Friends were a foreign thought, and he didn't need any if he was locking himself away. Lauren would occasionally poke in and offer him help, even drugs, if he needed them, but was pushed away. 

By the eighteenth year, Kieran somehow managed to stand up on his own. He cleaned himself up, redid his hair, put on a smile, and got himself another job. Sure, it was weak, painting walls and doing interior design, but it was something. Something, at least, to help cope with it all.

The same year that Kieran finally sucked it up and got himself together, after eleven entire years he'd spent on the ground and at his worst, he was kicked down again.

Sophia was given his address and a single, simple job: to bring Kieran "home". To the Phantom Scythe's mansion, and to pay the price for all that torture. 

Sure, he was her father. She should respect him, love him, and even more, but she couldn't. She didn't. Her entire life, she thought  _ he _ was the sole reason for her unhappiness; every time she felt down, she punched his face. Every time she felt mocked or ridiculed, she blamed her. It was him, him, Kieran, that bastard. The one to torture her. The one that destroyed her, tore her to pieces, chewed her up and spit her back out. 

By then, Sophia had learned that others could lie, and that  _ she  _ could lie. Lauren's teachings had begun to wear down, replaced by others. However, despite that blatant awareness, she never thought the leader could lie. That all of this was... bad. In any way. She wanted revenge, and revenge was the only thing in her heart; follow your heart, the others insisted. 

Imagine Kieran's astonishment when Sophia Sinclair-White, who had begun to take up a new name -- Aconite, to be precise -- showed up at his doorstep. He was confused at first, unsure why a girl had been named "aconite", especially with its dreary meaning, until she introduced herself in another way. 

"I'm Sophia Sinclair-White," Sophia said, fairly softly. A weak, fake smile trembled on her face, her fists in her pocket. The urge to punch this man was almost impossible to suppress, but she had to keep it in. For now, anyway. "I'm your daughter, dad." Her words felt vile, bitter, scraping against her tongue, but Kieran couldn't hear that venomous tone. Instead, he hugged her, overjoyed, tears spilling from his face. 

Kieran couldn't talk, his voice lost. He wrapped his arms tight, hiccuping. It was her, and he could recognize it. She had Lauren's beautiful face, her gentle voice. Her golden eyes. And bits of him, too, but that didn't matter at the time.

None of it did. Kieran was reunited with a child he'd accepted as dead, the reason he kept living. His single strand of hope, all these years, was that Sophia stayed alive, and that she'd push him to move on. And now, here she was, appearing on his doorstep, just as he moved on.

"Lauren -- your mom, she's not home yet, but I can show her you're here," Kieran gasped. "She'd... I think she'd be willing to take a break from work for you. Come, come inside, we have a lot to talk about. Please."

Sophia, willingly, followed, as Kieran headed to the kitchen and quickly made waffles for them. They had some quick chat, something that Sophia forgot, brushing off every question. She was eager to leave, to get out, and Kieran wasn't so sure why; he kept insisting on certain questions, but caught on fairly quickly she wanted to be elsewhere. When he eventually asked where she might want to go, Sophia was quick to answer.

"I wanted to show you where I live, now," Sophia explained, her plan coming together. "It's a beautiful place, trust me."

Those words were an anchor to Kieran's already-unsteady ship. They were too heavy, and caused his ship to sink, all the way down to the bottom of the ocean, but he tried to ignore it. Even  _ if _ his heart was hurting all the while. "Alright," he warily said, "I'll come check out that place."

As Kieran got into Sophia's car, listening to her radio, he gazed out the window. There was a guilty hope that Sophia's current home was run-down, in terrible condition. That his house was better, and she was amazed by it, and she wanted to show him how much her life will change. That there was a reason to be with him, even after he lost her. That he had  _ something _ , anything, that could be loved. None, though, because as the car drove up a clean, pristine-white sidewalk, he stared, mouth gaping, at the mansion. It was huge, beautiful, filled with people. Much better than Lauren's lousy place, as sad as he felt to admit that.

A chill ran down Kieran’s spine as he got out of the car, seeing people of all ages around here. He felt a sudden need to run, but refused to. For once that day, Sophia held his hand; it was coarse, rough, as if she was some kind of construction worker. Still, Kieran felt the softness of Sophia’s babyish hands from all those years ago, the giggling Sophia as she ran up a hill and rolled back down. 

“In here,” Sophia said, pulling Kieran into the house. Down some halls, too; as Kieran looked around, seeing all people, he felt as if he were walking around in a zoo. Not as one of the onlookers, but one of the animals. Malice and discontent was clear in their eyes, even more as they looked at him and his face. His steps caused rumors and whispers, as if they were snakes slithering around, ready to pounce and sink their venom-filled fangs.

“In here,” Sophia repeated, heaving open a door. Down these halls, it was darker, with less light. Colder, too, or maybe that was just Kieran beginning to tremble. He was standing by Sophia’s side, still holding her hand, as she shoved him.

“Hey — “ Kieran weakly called out, unsure if it was him who had done something wrong. Another shove, another push, and then a loud door’s slam. All was darkness in that eerie room, until Sophia flicked on the lights. In an instant, it was filled with bright, shining white — and in that same instant, Sophia brought a hard punch to his face.

A week passed until Lauren Sinclair found her spouse once again, constantly filled with panic all the while. One morning, when she woke from the couch, heading down the halls and just about to give up, she heard it; a groan from their bedroom, aching and pained.

Rushing up the stairs, metal tongs in hand, Lauren nearly attacked what she thought was a perpetrator. Instead, she found Kieran, lying in their bed, bloodied bandages around the majority of his limbs. When he came to full consciousness, awakened by the sounds of a panicked Lauren on the phone, his mind still came to Sophia and that dark room.

“Sophia,” he mumbled, reaching out an injured arm. Immediately, he winced and recoiled. “Is that you?”

Lauren turned back. She’d been sitting by his feet, her attention drawn by the movements but not the all-too-quiet mumbling. “Lauren Sinclair,” she answered, both to the operator and Kieran. “Hang on, I think he’s awake.”

Kieran was not, in fact, properly awake. He closed his eyes and put his head back, asleep again. 

“Ah, never mind. Please, come as soon as possible. I don’t know how long he’s been in this condition, it looks like someone threw him off the room of a ten-story building.” Lauren moved slightly closer, shifting on the bed, to touch his forehead. It was warm, far too warm, as if he had a fever.

For Kieran, he hoped it was. Nothing but a dream. A strange one, at that — to hear the anger in Sophia’s tone, to see her punch the life out of him, to bleed and bleed because of his actions. He believed it, too; that because he couldn’t stop holding onto his mistakes. How he messed up, how he practically killed his own child, his beloved, like he had killed so many others in his past. 

How he caused Sophia to return, once a year, on her birthday, to haunt him. Her spirit would torture him until Kieran stopped screaming at the pain. Until he stopped trying to resist, and simply accept it.

Once a year, for the next seven years, until Lauren decided it was enough and had them move houses. Not cities, per se, but to put enough distance between them and that old house. Just enough so that the attacks would stop, just enough so that she no longer woke up to see a Kieran White, broken on the outside as much on the inside, lying bruised and tattered. Maybe it would’ve stopped overtime regardless, as Kieran noticed that it began to hurt less. Maybe it was because he’d grown numb to it, maybe something else. Maybe she left and moved on, herself.

Wherever Sophia went, Kieran didn’t know. He just hoped that out there, in whatever dreamland, she was happy. 

On Sophia’s 26th birthday, Kieran blew out a candle on her cake, whispering that he forgave her, that he was sorry, and that he loved her.

And for once?

He could’ve sworn that the cake whispered back, as delusional he was, “ _ I forgive you _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> you might be wondering, what happened to sophia?
> 
> sophia might just be like her dad. killing people for a living. just like he. she hears tales of him, of the Purple Hyacinth, but doesn't want to be like him. no, not a monster like him. she'd be cold, cunning, stealthy, just like she was taught to be. and she'd be better. so much better.
> 
> maybe one day, sophia will come back and kill kieran for good. overtake his legacy. she's already older than him, tho, and still hasn't made much of a name for herself.
> 
> maybe lauren will find her one day, abandoning the phantom scythe, trying again to find her parents and wanting to let them know that she's sorry, she loves them, and that she misses them. maybe not.
> 
> we'll see


End file.
